My brother Chris said when
he woke up Saturday morning he felt like it was going to be a goodday. As for me, any day I can stumble out of my house without
running into something is a plus. So we were off to a good start.
Going hunting with my father and brother is something I don’t do
often enough and I was really looking forward to it. I knew that if
we didn’t get a moose, at least we’d enjoy a day in the outdoors
having a barrel of fun trading enough yarns to fill a book. I’ve
said it before and I’ll say it again; I come from a whole family of
characters, I’m just the only one who writes stuff down.

As we travelled to the
area we were going to hunt, I peered out the window in the darkness,wondering if the moose gods would smile upon us. It was day three of
the three day hunt, and so far all Dad had seen were some tracks,
which are pretty hard to cook. If he didn’t get anything this time,
we would have to get pretty inventive with the frying pan. Slowly,
we made our way past the woodlot that had been harvested recently,
which was our destination. As the light chased away the darkness, I
imagined an army of moose running and hiding as we approached,
sticking their tongues out at us if moose can do such a thing.

It was still too early, so
we drove past our spot, turned and came back, giving the animals

moose can be hard to see at the best of times

ample time to make their escape. When we returned it was light
enough to hunt, but mother nature wasn’t being very cooperative. It
was cloudy, damp and a mist rose from the ground in the clearing. As
another yarn was being shared, I stared out the window. Then I saw
it. The outline of a large animal. “Stop!” I butted in,
“There’s a moose!”

My father got out of the
van and took aim as my brother and I stared breathlessly out the
windows. I have no problem admitting I wouldn’t have been able to
make the shot, unless I had a grenade launcher. It was just too far
and poor visibility to boot. After what seemed like an eternity the
moose started to move. It turned broadside to us. The rifle
cracked, cutting through the morning stillness like a sword. Dad’s
shot was perfect. The moose fell as my brother and I yelled out in
unison, “You got it!”

I said recently in a blog
that my father had done a lot of things well in his life. I forgot

Being a meat shop owner for years, Dad does an expert job of dressing the carcass

to mention what a marksman he his. Turns out, the moose was 150+
yards away, and he got it in poor conditions with no scope. Just open sights. Old school. That’s something to be proud of right there. After some hard work, we had the beast loaded and delivered to the wardens and then the meat shop. Skinned and dressed, the
animal weighed 430 lbs, the size of a young beef. That would’ve made
it close to 800lbs on the hoof. A big animal.

I saw a lot in the woods
that morning. More than just a successful hunt. I saw that you can

beat the clock, at least for a little while anyways. In the dim
morning light, my father was young again. In an instant he became
the man I knew as a child. The best hunter as he made the perfect
shot, the fastest as he beat my brother and I to the downed moose,
and the happiest as exclaimed how great it was to be there with us to
share it. For a little while, in a clearing in the woods, I watched
thirty years melt away before my eyes. It was magic. And I
wouldn’t have missed any of it for the world. Way to go dad!

How the flock are you? Oh, you’ve got your woolen knickers in a knot because gas has gone up? I hear you all saying the same things, “Gas shouldn’t go up now, because we’ve got lots in reserve!” “They’re using the storms as an excuse to gouge us!” “What they’re doing is criminal!” Keep bleating, you woolly little flockers, and maybe someone might hear you.

The reason I’m calling you sheep is because you are sheep. If the gas company says you gotta pay $1.30 a litre for fuel this week, you’ll pay it, just like good sheep. And you won’t do anything constructive, you’ll just bleat and blat about it.I’ve written about this topic many times, and have offered great solutions to the problem, but no one ever does anything. Here’s a couple of ’em from blogs past:

If you really want to get under the gas companies’ skin, how bout leave your carhome once a week? If everyone did that, consumption would drop a minimum of 14%. Now there’s something that would cause big oil some pain. Or, if it’s too much of a burden to leave your trusty steel steed in the garage for one day, then have a gas lottery. Organize a meeting, put all the names of your neighborhood gas bars in a hat, pick one and boycott the rest of ’em. Not for just one day, until the prices start to drop. And trust me they will. This has been done before.

Until you all make a stand and assert yourselves, this is going to keep happening. In the agricultural world, the sheep never seem to figure out that the Shepard needs them a lot more than they need him. It’s the same with the gas companies. We seem to think we’re powerless when it comes to fuel pricing, but we’re not! Most of you don’t seem to realize the fuel corporations need you more than you need them. Until that day comes, you’ll continue to be sheep. Maybe it ain’t so baaaaaad, but it’s not great either. (just ask the goat)

99 cents won’t buy you a litre of gas, but it will buy you a copy of my latest Novel, “Visions”, the sequel to my book “The Vision”. Actually, you can buy all of my books for that scandalously low price. Follow the link and have a great read instead of a short drive (cause you ain’t going far on 99 cents worth of gas) Thanks eh! Just follow the link. https://wolfpackpublishing.com/jason-lawson/

Every time I take a tour around the province (which is quite often cause I drive big rigs

potential NB MLA

when I ain’t writing books) , I’m amazed at the stuff I see. Actually, I could probably write a book about the idiotic sights that have been stamped on the front of my brain forever, but there a couple that keep jumping into my line of sight over and over, so I guess they’re worth mentioning.

For some reason, I keep coming across these signs on secondary roads in the province.

No, I ain’t jawing about cul-de-sacs, residential streets or gated communities, I’m talking ’bout number 2 highways with speed limits of 80 or 90 kilometers per hour. It hasn’t been that long since I’ve been a kid, and I grew up beside one of these roads. I don’t ever remember my parents saying to me; “Put on a helmet and go play in traffic.” Or “Why don’t you kids make a street hockey game in the middle of the main road?” They did say stuff like; “Don’t play on the God damn road! You’ll get run over!” Are today’s parents so tender, they’re afraid they’ll upset little Johnny by not letting him play on the tarmac? Or are they all just brain-dead?

Another oddity that keeps reappearing are freezers doubling as garbage cans. Now I

have no problem with this whatsoever, if someone can repurpose a deep freeze that’s going through menopause and save themselves a few bucks, that’s awesome. What I don’t understand is the need for them to write the word “Garbage” on the container. I seriously doubt anyone will think you’re keeping your prime rib and pork chops at the end of the road. And unless your name is Mr. Dressup, you probably don’t own a tickle-trunk, and if you did, it wouldn’t be at the end of your God damn driveway!

I’ve seen lots more, like car seats doubling as lawn chairs, houses that don’t require shingles or siding (maybe it’s over-rated anyway) and people mowing grass around overturned vehicles on their front lawn. To each their own, eh! Welcome to New Brunswick where we’re all a bit odd…

This morning I went to the local coffee shop, a franchise of the corporate giant that we all know and worship. Since I was dressed a little better than a street urchin, I decided that the drive-thru was the way to go, especially since there were hardly any cars in the lineup. To my dismay, I was soon trapped in the line that was moving forward slower than President Trump’s Mexican border wall. As I sat there watching snails passing my car at what appeared to be a high rate of speed, I noticed a few things. Things that were more disturbing than the snails.

The first thing that caught my eye was a help wanted sign. Of course, it’s nothing new, as a matter of fact its up 24/7 because such a high percentage of employees quit. Didn’t take me long to figure out the line wasn’t moving, because there was no staff moving. Next, I see a sign that warns of price increases of products, due to higher operational costs. Not only was I jammed up in a line that was going slower than the second coming of Christ, I was going to have to pay more for my goodies when I actually got to the window.

Why do we put up with this shit? Like seriously? Corporations that make hundreds of millions of dollars of profit annually, treat their employees like dirt and charge us through the nose for everything. I can stand a price increase, I didn’t need the stuff, I wanted it. What I don’t need is to wait in a line for half an hour, because someone who has more money than God chooses not to pay their employees a fair wage.

Another fine example of a corporate bastard, is everyone’s favorite department store chain that sells everything from car batteries to groceries. Every time this mega-mart invades and conquers a major city, the standard of living in that city drops. I ain’t making this shit up. Once they’ve established themselves and begin selling, the smaller retailers are forced out of business, and their employees are either out of work, or have to work for the company that cost them their job. Not surprisingly, their rate of pay is pathetic and they try to keep the majority of their staff as part-time, in order to pay them less and keep them from receiving any benefits. Thousands of their employees in the USA routinely apply for food stamps, as they are so underpaid they can’t make ends meet, while their owners are some of the richest billionaires on the planet…

Not everyone can go to University. Not everyone gets a dream job in the real world. I never met an employee at a fast food joint or department store who said; “I’m gonna work here and be rich in no time!” These people, hundreds of thousands of them, just want to make a living. But they can’t! Who the fuck can afford daycare, pay rent, hydro and buy groceries on minimum wage?

There needs to be changes. There needs to be a law in place that forces corporate slumlords to pay their employees a certain amount of money, if they make a certain amount of profit. And we need to start boycotting them, because our contributions to these greedy fucks just add to the problem. Maybe they’ll rethink their borderline slave labor policies when they can’t sell anything. A treat from the local franchise ain’t such a treat when you realize the person that served you probably can’t afford the meal you just bought. Think about that the next time you’re swilling down a double-double and a muffin. You’ll probably choke. I did.

In Canada, when someone appears on the scene who has a terrible hairdo, a big mouth, odd skin tone and a questionable IQ, there’s either two places for them. They can get a job at the local circus, or potentially wind up in the nuthouse. In the United States, however, such an individual can and has become the head honcho, grand poobah, and Chief of everything. Yessiree, the President!

From a northern perspective, I’d say old Trump is in a lot of trouble right now. Whenever someone gets close to finding out about him selling the Russians Trump Ice Water and the nuclear codes, he fires them. This strategy might work on a distant planet where androids and humans are made in the same factory by the gazillions, but on good old planet Earth, he’s gonna run out of people to toss to the curb…..

Not to mention the polls have him somewhere between being impeached, or tarred and feathered (I prefer the latter). Trump needs to clear his name, once and for all. I think the right way for him to do this, is to appear on National Television and take a lie-detector test. The question is which show should he grace with his presence? At first I thought Steve Wilkos would be a good fit, as they’re both bullies, but they’d be a total intellectual mismatch. Although Trump has the IQ of a Water Buffalo with mad-cow disease on a good day, he’d look like a rocket scientist next to Wilkos, who reminds me of a moustache-less Dr. Phil with severe head trauma.

In a case like this, Maury is the guy to call. In one segment of the show (you couldn’t devote the whole episode to him, it would be too yuge!), he could put the entire matter to rest. Guilty or innocent. Cause they wouldn’t be faking things on the Maury show, right? To be honest, right now I think any one of those idiotic talk shows have more credibility than President Bad-Hair does. So go for it, Donald! Take the lie detector test! Oh, and maybe a DNA test while you’re at it, I think Clyde the Orangutan might be your son….

I don’t know what to believe anymore. In reality, how could anyone know what to believe?Fake news, conspiracies, partnerships that do or don’t exist. It’s getting harder and harder to figure out. I’ve been watching some news this week, ever since the incidents in Syria made the headlines, but to be brutally honest, I have a hard time believing anything I see anymore, so as a rule, ‘the news’ is not on my to-do list.

How does one objectively figure out what’s going on over there anyway? The more I watch, the less I know. First, we were told that Assad was responsible for the chemical attack on his own people. Since then, I’ve heard that it also could’ve been the rebels who are fighting against him, ISIS or perhaps even Russia. I have no way of verifying any of this, who can? We’re all at the mercy of the news outlets, who are owned by corporations, who could have any number of stakes or interests in this.

Then there’s President Corn-head. Mr. “Travel ban on Muslims, No Syrian Refugees for me.” How are we to take him seriously? Muslims were leaving such a bad taste in his mouth that he had no problem venting about them in public. Now he’s suddenly concerned and distraught over the gas attack in Muslim Syria, so he unloads a slew of missiles on Assad’s regime. This puts him on bad ground with the Russians, but hey, wait a minute? Weren’t he and his cronies being investigated for their links to Russia? What a way to deflect that investigation.

I’ve always been fascinated by men like Dick Proenneke. I don’t know if any of you recall Mr. Proenneke, he’s the guy who sort of gave up on modern society and went to live in a cabin in Alaska in isolation and seclusion. With the world becoming more confusing by the second, suddenly a life with no internet, television, radio and most importantly, politicians, is starting to sound pretty good.

Dick didn’t totally become a recluse. He opened his doors to visitors, he enjoyed writing, filming and reading good books. Really my kind of guy. I guess if the world is bringing you down, there’s nothing like a good read to put your mind in a nice place. So here’s a couple of links for mine. Please take a look, if you keep reading, I’ll keep writing. And what can you buy these days for 99 cents? Not even a cup of coffee, but maybe a conspiracy theory…

‘After The Darkness’ is my latest novel, due to be released this month. It is the story of a man who becomes disabled after committing a felony. The injury causes him to give up on life, but a special horse helps him find his way back to happiness. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Here’s a sample…

Dylan reached out with the pistol and pushed the power button on the TV. The room lapsed into darkness as the picture went blank. Then he heard it, faint at first, but soon it was louder than before. The mare was whinnying from inside the barn, her pleas echoing off the steel walls of the structure.

“Son of a bitch!” Dylan rolled his wheelchair to the door and shoved it open, “Shut up!”

This time, the mare paid no heed at all. She continued on, her amplified calls struck him in the chest and echoed in his ears.

“Suit yourself.” He pushed himself down the ramp and into the yard, “you must wanna die as bad as I do.”

The mare kept it up, as if she were baiting him.

Now angry and totally drunk, Dylan pushed hard on the wheels. The graveled yard was now a sea of mud and water. The chair would barely move. Cursing and straining, he slowly got through the mud and reached the gate.

He reached for the latch. Then realized it was tied. In a serious knot. He struggled with it for a moment, but it was too tight. Unknown to him, earlier the mare had been lifting the latch and pushing against the gate, trying to escape, which made the knot impossible to undo. The only way to remove the rope would be with a knife.

The mare whinnied again.

Dylan cursed, tried to wipe the rain water from his eyes, then shoved the gun into his belt. He grabbed the fence and hauled himself out of the chair. In slow motion, he tried to pull himself up and over. His hands slipped from the rain soaked plank, and he fell, down on the ground beside the chair. “Son of a bitch!”

Mud covered him. Angrily, he rolled under the fence and began crawling towards the barn. Inch by inch, he pulled himself along, as the rain continued to batter him, the mud continued caking him all over.

Gasping, he stopped, his energy all but gone. He looked up and saw the mare staring at him from just inside the barn. He rolled onto his side, and pulled out the gun. Breathing heavily, he aimed recklessly and fired again. The shot made a deafening roar as it echoed off of the barn wall. Once again, the mare whirled and retreated to the rear of the barn.

He lay there, trying to catch his breath. Water continued to drench him, but the mare was silent. He tipped over onto his back, and let the rain stream down his face. He smiled.

She whinnied again.

“You bitch!” Dylan rolled back onto his stomach and began crawling, gun in hand. After several yards of painfully slow going, he had to stop. He had no energy left. He lowered his head down to the ground, closed his eyes and blacked out.

Time passed. Dylan’s eyes opened. Now sober, he lifted his head slightly and stared straight ahead. The rain was still falling hard, but not on him. His gaze shifted slightly to the left, then to the right. What the fuck is that? Posts? He wiped some mud from his eyes and face, then it hit him like a hammer. Legs! The mare was standing over him, shielding him from the rain. Tears began running down his face. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I am so sorry.”

The mare whinnied softly and widened her legs a bit, continuing her vigil. Dylan laid there for a little longer, sobbing quietly, then started the long journey back to his chair. As he drug himself forward, the mare took gentle steps, staying over him and keeping him dry. At long last he reached the fence, pulled himself under it, then hauled himself up and looked at her. “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

I really hope you all enjoy it. In the meantime, you can purchase ‘the fix’ for a super-cheap price eh! Thank you all so very much!

My apologies to all of you who follow my blog. I’m like the laziest blogger in existence. Truthfully, I’ve been terribly busy with other projects, but I am going to attempt to update my stuff on here as time permits. Recently I signed with a new publisher who has acquired ALL my printed titles and is releasing my new ones ( of course). Here’s the link for my latest and greatest. Buy it, it’s some cheap eh! https://www.amazon.com/Fix-Jason-Lawson-ebook/dp/B06VW6XN7Z

I’ve also been working on “The Vision” movie script. By the time it hits the theatres, the name may changed, and the story has morphed. It’s going to be amazing! I also have a television show in development with a National station which has been a very exciting process. Not to mention I’ve written another book which will be available in a month or so. It is called ‘After the Darkness’.

I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all for supporting me and other local artists. Without you, none of us could survive. I’m very fortunate to live in a place like New Brunswick where people are so generous and quick to help someone who is attempting to create art of many forms. You are the best!

welcome to 2016. As some of you may have guessed by my last name, I am of Scottish ancestory. Factor in my mother was a Campbell, and you’ll understand my penchant for kilts and bagpipes.

On the Lawson side, we can trace our family tree almost back to when we were swinging in it. It’s documented history that we were in Scotland for centuries. It’s also documented history that Scotland was persecuted by England for centuries. Mel Gibson’s portrayal of William Wallace in ‘Braveheart’ only gave us a tiny glimpse at the atrocities that were committed against the Scots.

England waged war on Scotland

for centuries. The Scots were beaten down, raped, murdered, massacred, tortured, imprisoned, hanged, butchered, etc.etc. But they kept fighting back with sticks, clubs, pitchforks and whatever they could lay their hands on, eventually driving England back once and for all.

Many of my ancestors (whom I never met) suffered and died during these terrible times. So I’ve decided I want to be compensated for what happened to them. It doesn’t matter that I wasn’t born, or even living on that continent. I still deserve to be paid for what happened to someone else. Don’t I?

Of course I don’t. But there are

many facets of modern society who think they deserve apologies and royalties for things that never happened to them personally. It’s kind of like suing the car driver that almost hit you. Didn’t actually make contact, but it was kinda close…

How are we supposed to make the
world a better place for future generations, when we can’t even take responsibility for ourselves? I don’t think we can until certain sectors of society give their heads a shake and gets over themselves. Happy New Year everyone…

Let me start of by saying I am a very fortunate person. When I started out writing fiction afew years back, I needed help, lots of it! There were a few &%$#heads that were unapproachable, but most authors were more than happy to help me. Especially those in the WFNB (www.wfnb.ca). Fast forward to 2015. I have 5 novels under my belt, two of which have been optioned for film, one of which is in development right now with Telefilm Canada.

Naturally, I get emails and messages through social media from writers who are just starting out and need help. I never refuse anyone. I remember how much assistance I received, and am glad to return the favor. Not to mention I don’t know everything (far from it) and still need help myself.

However, I routinely receive questions from people that either MAKE NO SENSEor have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH WRITING! At first I just ignored the queries, but then I got to thinking. “These people need answers. Who cares if it isn’t answered properly? Politicians neveranswer questions correctly and they seem to be doing okay.” So here it is, a totally freeadvice column. Ask me a question and I’ll answer it. Just don’t expect it to actually help….

-Dear Jason, whenever I write I smoke a lot of cigarettes. This pisses off my mother-in-law who lives with us. She keeps telling me that they are bad for my heart and lungs. How can I stop her from nagging me?Serge.Hi Serge. The next time the old battle axe tells you smoking is bad for your heart and lungs, remind her that so is a rusty spike. Then laugh continuously for at least thirty seconds. Leave titles of your work lying around where she can see them, like ‘murder for dummies’, ‘eliminating in-laws’, ‘and body-arson on a budget’. She’ll stop nagging and start packing. -Dear Jason, Whenever I sit on my computer writing for long periods of time, I get sore wrists. Do you think I have carpul tunel syndrome? Pauline. Hi Pauline. First thing, stop sitting on the computer. You’ll bust it with your fat a$$, although I have no idea why this would make your wrists sore. Go to your family doctor and get this checked out. You might want to ask for a lobotomy while you are there. Or a CT scan of your noggin at least… -Hey Jason, I just cut down and put up my Christmas tree, now I’m itchy. Could I be allergic to fir trees? Trevor. Hey Trevor, it’s possible I guess. Or if you got the tree near an Irving Plantation you probably got a dose of Glyphosate. But don’t worry about it. It’s perfectly safe, and you’ll be the talk of the town when your cat grows a second head.

Want a question answered? Contact me through the blog by leaving a comment, (they go to me before they get published) or message me on social media. I won’t use your last name, and probably won’t be any help whatsoever. But ya might get a laugh or two…

What’s great about December? Not much if you’re like me and think Christmas has become a boring, money-sucking, waste of time. Asides from the pleasure I get from spending time with family and friends, this holiday is total bomb… It’s no wonder people get so depressed this time of year. Anyway, I won’t ramble on about it. Check out my archives and you’ll see why I really despise the Ho Ho Ho holiday.

I do enjoy winter though. This one hasn’t been great as far as the weather goes if you’re into snowmobiling, snow-shoeing, skating, or pretty much any activity that requires some cold temperatures. Most days are drizzly, damp, and depressing. If the holiday mud and mire are getting you down, here’s a story that will perk you up. Just click on the link! http://commuterlit.com/2011/02/wednesday-snowstorm/